S.O.S.
It has been two days since the suspicious transmissions were picked up on an NR military frequency, so it may be a surprise when - after a round of static and garbled syllables - a strained, possibly female voice projects into the appropriate channel again. "...espond. Repeat, this is Ambassador Delgard reporting from ISD Nemesis." The voice rings clearly enough to match recognition tech. "Please respond. If ANYONE out there has hearing HALF as good as mine (she'd suffered permanent hearing loss years ago), kindly get the comm OUT of y00-----a----nd resssssssspond!" She sounds pissed. Even through her hoarse whisper. This time it is not static on the other end, Ghost Squadron is here, and they hear. Flying in an A-Wing fighter outfitted in Ghost Squadron's traditional red coloration, Field Agent Galin tunes his receiver to the channel reported in earlier transmissions but is still shocked to have a loud and clear signal, He keys the mic on the squadron frequency, "Hey Wildman, are you reading this? Sounds like the ambassador's transmitting in the clear." He flicks the com back to the same frequency that the signal as reported on, "Roger Ambassador, this is Ghost 3, I got you loud and clear, what is your status?" He flicks his attention down to his scanners, so far the Imps hadn't detected them, but broadcasting like this would give them away, they don't have much time and he knows it. It was not his first choice in starfighters, though not likely his last, either. Regardless, Captain Corbet is not pleased within the cockpit of the A-Wing that's currently wrapped about him. A hyperspace jump had been plotted, and now they have dropped out within the Caspar system to investigate the signal that was sent. As the feminine voice comes over the comm, followed by Galin's own incredulous response, Lance releases a slow breath. "It seems the Ambassador's still alive and kicking, Wraith." he comments over the Ghost frequency, before flicking comms over to that of the transmission. "Copy, Canary." he says, refusing to give any information to the Imperials regarding the source of the signal, should they pick it up. "Wildman here. We're here to assist. What can you tell us?" Hands fly over the controls of his A-Wing as he moves into a synchronous flight pattern with Galin, taking lead. Eyes watch the scanners carefully for inbound trouble, while his ears listen for the response from aboard the ISD Nemesis. Oh, praises be. Adjusting her recline on the bed, Ambrosia tucks her head and digs her right elbow a bit deeper into the mattress, clutching the comlink close to her. "The Nemesis is relatively unguarded - inside. A little over six thousand crewmen left on board. Everyone else has joined the party on Caspar. We're deck three, aft....second stateroom. I think," she breathes, the tremor of fear present in her voice. The A-wings stay in formation as they cruise through space recording the conversation with the ambassador, "Affirmative Canary." Galin acknowledges, switching to her call sign, "Are you injured?" He flicks his com back to Ghost freq, "I am starting to hear chatter on the Imperial band, it's encrypted. Maybe just a patrol, but be ready to bounce if we get detected, getting this data back to command is critical." He flicks his com back to Ambrosia's frequency, waiting for a response. Hitting record on his comm to ensure he captures all that is said by the Ambassador, Lance continues to sweep hands across the controls. "Understood, Canary. Scanning the system for a way to you now." Eyes flit over incoming readings, and as he switches to his ship-to-ship frequency, the man curses. "I don't see an easy way in, Wraith." Having a bit of a reputation as a hothead, as well as an impulsive - almost reckless - pilot, Lance falls silent, considering his options as he looks over the swath of data, and the large Imperial presence located within the system. Swapping back over to the Ambassador's frequency, he regardless remains silent, waiting for her next response. "I'm...fine," the Ambassador replies, tone guarded and not entirely sincere. "His gracious Lord Thel is keeping me as a 'guest'." There's radio silence for a moment on her end, but she eventually clicks back in. "Nemesis. Deck three. State room two. Myself and one Lt. Kovani requesting evac, soon as able." Sniffing, the woman glances nervously over her shoulder as the sound of boots tromp by outside her door. Must be changing of the guard. When she returns, it's a barely audible sound. "Copy?" Increased transmissions turn into blips. Four of them, moving fast from the Nine o' clock angle. Galin turns his coms back to the Ghost frequency, "4 bogies tracking at nine o'clock. I got a bad feeling about this. " He flicks back to the open com, "Canary, it's time to go before they" *Static* "Catch us and you. Wraith Out." He flicks his com back. "They are too far out to get a good scan, let’s get clear and maybe we can jet before they ever knew we were here." "Copy, Canary. Pick up for two. I recommend you keep at the ready, because we'll be coming in hot." comes Lance's reply, leaning back into his cockpit. "Expect delivery within the week. Copy." Suddenly, there's a light flashing on his console, and the Captain curses somewhat hushedly. Flicking over to Ghost Squadron's frequency, he speaks up to Galin. "I read them, Three. I suggest we boogie on out of here before they find us snooping around in their space. Copy." Once again, he turns back to the Ambassador's frequency. "Canary, this is Wildman. We'll get you out of there, even if I have to come back solo in my X-Wing. Hold tight. We'll bring you home. And when we do, I'll take you out for a drink." With that, Lance flips back to the Ghost frequency, remaining there. "Let's bug on out of here. Follow my lead, and calculate the hyperjump." Ambrosia listens, curled into as fetal a position as her healing knees will allow. She shakes, nodding in response to their reported problem. But…are they still there? Staring for a long moment into the tiny, metal cylinder clutched so tightly to her chest, she ventures one more time into the depths of space. Just in case. "I can't risk further contact, lest He find it…and I know he will." Squeezing her eyes closed, Ambrosia draws a long, shaky breath. "I'm sorry. Please tell my little girl. If they ---I---I'm summoned to dinner. Goodb----" and the com cuts out from her end, to the tune of banging on the door and loud, muffled voices.